


A Match (Nearly) Made on New Caprica

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-02
Updated: 2009-11-02
Packaged: 2018-09-17 05:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: ’All I’m saying is you’re lonely; she’s lonely. Sounds like a match made on New Caprica to me.’





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to survival instinct.net on November 3, 2009.
> 
> This story was originally written and posted for the seventh makelaurahappy challenge, in which writers were tasked with making Laura happy with women. Huge thanks (and possibly blame) goes to chaila43 who aided and abetted in the development of the concept for this story. Also lots of hugs and thanks to nnaylime and caz963 for their always helpful suggestions and advice.

Leaning back in his chair, Saul scans the watch report by the muted light of Bill’s desk lamp. “Oh, and one other thing; Helo mentioned that the CAP was almost twenty minutes late going treads up this morning.”

Glancing up, Bill meets Saul’s eyes for only a moment before returning his attention to the work order in his hand. “Seems to have become something of a habit, lately.”

“You want me to get Starbuck in here? She’s about due for a dressing down.”

“It’ll have to wait,” Bill replies as he reaches for his pen and signs the document before handing it over. “I’ve got to go down to the planet for a meeting with Baltar and the Quorum in about an hour.”

“The surface security plan?”

“Yeah.”

“All I can say is better you than me.”

“Thanks,” Bill replies dryly as he removes his glasses and rub his eyes.

Saul watches him appraisingly for a minute before offering carefully, “You know, as long as you’re down there, you might as well make the most of it.”

“Of a Quorum meeting? Is that even possible?”

“Not the meeting. Being planetside.” There’s a hint of annoyance in Saul’s tone and looking up, Bill is surprised to find his XO watching him determinedly. “You could use a little R&R, Bill.”

“I’m scheduled to take the evening watch.”

“I’ll cover your shift. C’mon Bill; we’ve been circling this hunk of rock without so much as a DRADIS blip for almost two months. That’s enough to drive anyone nuts. Lee and I can handle things up here until you get back.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do while I’m down there?”

“Whatever the frak you want. That’s the whole point.” Saul pauses a moment before adding speculatively, “I’m sure Laura Roslin wouldn’t mind a visit.”

Bill glares at his XO over the rim of his glasses before rising and abruptly gathering the papers on his desk into a tidy pile. Unfazed, Saul stands, makes his way to the drink cart and picks up a glass. “You miss her, Bill. Admit it.”

“I’ll have one too, as long as you’re pouring,” is Bill’s only response.

Saul snorts and reaches for a second glass. “She’s the frakkin’ former President, Bill. Who’s do you think she’s gonna be able to talk to down there, other than that conniving assistant of hers?” Turning, he hands a glass to Bill before raising his own to his lips. “All I’m saying is you’re lonely, she’s lonely. Sounds like a match made on New Caprica to me.”

“I can’t believe I’m standing here listening to this.”

Draining his glass, Saul sets it on the edge of the desk before turning and making his way to the hatch. “Stay, see Laura, have a good time. You’ll thank me for it later. And if the Cylons do happen to show up while you’re down there – which they won’t – I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Bill continues to glower long after his friend has disappeared down the corridor. Eventually he sits down with a sigh and, taking a sip of his drink, reaches for one of several folders piled on the edge of his desk.

It’s only after he’s read the same paragraph for the third time in five minutes that Bill finally gives up, closing the file with a roughly muttered curse. Reaching for his pen, he pulls a clean sheet of paper from his desk drawer and after only a moment’s hesitation, begins to write.

*~*~*~*

“Okay Carina, what should we do next?”

Laura waits patiently as the little girl fidgets in her chair, considering the question. “Um…Carry the one?”

“That’s right! So we put the one up here so it doesn’t get lost—”

“Ms. Roslin?”

Looking up, Laura is surprised to see a young man in Colonial uniform standing awkwardly just inside the entryway. “Yes?” she replies cautiously, straightening and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am but the Admiral asked that I deliver this to you personally,” he explains, making his way through the maze of desks towards her, a clean, white envelope in his outstretched hand.

Laura hesitates only a moment before taking it from him. “Thank you.” Turning it over, she feels her heart skip a beat as her eyes trace the letters of her name, written in Bill’s distinctive angular hand.

It takes several moments for Laura to notice that the young officer has made no move to leave, and lifting her gaze she cocks her head at him questioningly. “The Admiral instructed me to wait for you to tender a reply, ma’am,” he explains with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

The situation is strange and uncomfortable enough as it is; when Laura becomes aware of the low murmur of voices around her, she can’t help the blush that she can feel heating her cheeks. Looking around, she finds her students watching the scene with unabashed interest, several of them smiling and whispering excitedly to one another behind cupped hands.

Doing her best to look stern, Laura raises her voice to be heard above the chatter. “Okay, that’s enough chatter. Time for everyone to get back to work.”

Laura’s eyes are watchful as she walks slowly across the room to her desk. It’s only once she’s assured herself that her students’ attention is again focused on their work that she slides her finger under the envelope flap and pulls out a crisply folded piece of paper.

“Laura? What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Laura replies absently, feeling rather than seeing Maya come up beside her as she unfolds the page and begins to read…

…an activity she wishes she’d had the foresight to do without an audience when a few seconds later she hears Maya exclaim, “Admiral Adama is coming to visit you?”

“To drop off a few books for the school.”

“And see you.”

“He probably has some time between his meeting with the Quorum and whenever the Raptor is scheduled to return to Galactica,” Laura dismisses with a shrug.

“He’s the Admiral, Laura. I’m pretty sure the Raptor leaves whenever he wants it to.”

“Laura?”

“Yes, Tory?” Laura breathes, unable to keep the exasperation from her voice.

“Is everything all right?” she asks, eyes shifting anxiously between Laura and the soldier still waiting at the tent’s rear entrance.

“Everything is fine.”

“Admiral Adama’s written to ask Laura if he can come by for dinner tonight.”

“He didn’t say anything about dinner,” Laura protests, growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation with each passing second.

“He’s personally offered to deliver books from his private collection so they can be used at the school. You have to invite him to stay for dinner, at least.”

Laura remains silent, though something in her expression must convey her grudging agreement with Maya’s reasoning because a moment later Tory exclaims disbelievingly, “Wait. You can’t actually be considering this?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But even if we choose to ignore for the moment the fact he’s all but invited himself over, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be seen…fraternizing with the Admiral of the Fleet.”

“Tory, I hardly think—”

“Laura’s not the President anymore; why should it matter how she chooses to spend her time?”

“Because President or not, she’s still a public figure. People are going to notice – and more importantly, they are going to talk. It’s still too soon after the election for her to be—”

“Thank you both,” Laura interjects firmly, “for your input. If you could please see to the collection of the students’ workbooks, I’ll finish up here and be with you in a minute.”

To her relief, both women acquiesce – though not before Tory gives Laura a final, reproving glance. And with that look – before Laura even realizes it – her decision is made. Bending down, she hurriedly scribbles her response before sliding the letter back into the envelope. “Thank you,” she murmurs, handing it to the young Private with a self-conscious smile.

*~*~*~*

Hunkered low in his chair, Bill is doing his best to remain unnoticed and undisturbed when he catches sight of Private Sykes hovering just inside the Quorum Chamber’s entryway. Waving him over, Bill takes the proffered envelope with a nod and after taking a cursory glance around the room to assure himself Baltar and the delegates are still busy with their politicking, unfolds the page and reads Laura’s response, written in her familiar, looping script.

“You got a girl down here on the surface?” he asks a beat later, lifting his gaze to study the young man standing beside him.

Sykes shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and Bill does his best to smother his amusement as he watches a blush creep onto the Private’s cheeks. “Yes, sir.”

“Well then, go find her. I’ll see you back on board Galactica for morning watch.”

Sykes smiles widely. “Thank you, sir,” he replies earnestly before practically bounding out of the room. Bill watches him go, unable to suppress a corresponding smile.

“Right then.” Startled, he turns to find Baltar watching him with a peculiar expression on his face. Gaius fidgets slightly under Bill’s challenging gaze before quickly schooling his expression into one of casual indifference and turning to face the others, now seated around the table. “We have a rather full agenda, so let’s go ahead and get started.”

*~*~*~*

“I really don’t see why this is such a big deal.”

“Laura, come on,” Maya cajoles, a sleeping Isis swaddled against her chest. “You can’t tell me you’ve never cooked for a man before.” She pauses to run a hand over the child’s forehead before fixing her gaze at some distant point on the horizon. “It has to be something special – but not too special, of course. You don’t want it to look like you’re trying too hard…Maybe Noranti has some decent hens today…”

Reluctantly, Laura trails after Maya as the younger woman winds her way through the crowd towards the poulterer’s stall. She feels a bit ridiculous about the fuss Maya is making; it is, after all, only dinner. Whether or not Bill is there to share it with her should be irrelevant. And yet, in spite of herself, Laura finds herself wishing she had the full resources of her Caprica City apartment’s gourmet kitchen at her disposal, rather than the meager flames of her tent’s small wood burning stove.

“Laura? What do you think?”

“Hmm?” It takes Laura a moment to realize they’ve arrived at the stall and that the poulterer is watching her expectantly, a pair of smallish plucked birds in his hand. Distractedly, she points to one of them and watches as the burly man begins to wrap the hen in crumpled wax paper.

“I was just remembering the Riverwalk Market in Caprica City,” she says to Maya somewhat wistfully as they wait for him to finish. “I used to do most of my shopping there. You could find just about anything the Colonies had to offer.”

“I visited the Market once years ago, during a family vacation. I remember being amazed by how much was for sale, and how colorful everything was.” Maya pauses to take in the scene around them before turning to Laura with a melancholy smile. “It’s not quite the same, is it?”

The poulterer returns and hands the package to Laura, who in turn drops several cubits into his palm. “No,” she replies, glancing down at the still sleeping Isis as she tucks her purchase into her satchel. “But it’s more than we had a few months ago.” Turning, Laura gives Maya an encouraging smile. “So, what do you think the chances are that someone around here has a decent bottle of wine?”

*~*~*~*

Bill glances at the clock for what he quickly calculates to be the sixth time in ten minutes, and inwardly cringes at the realization that no matter how he cuts it, he’s going to be late. What had started out as a simple meeting about maintaining order on the planet’s surface has quickly escalated into an all-out battle over protection of civil rights, and it doesn’t seem that any of the participants – Delegate Porter in particular – are planning to concede defeat anytime soon. If anything, Baltar appears to be enjoying all the commotion, a fact that only serves to increase Bill’s frustration as he watches the minutes slowly tick by on the clock on the wall at the far end of the room.

Belatedly, he realizes that the room has gone silent and he lowers his gaze to find everyone around the table watching him expectantly. Heaving a sigh, Bill refocuses his attention on the meeting with the vain hope that by doing so he might somehow be able to speed things along. “What was the question?”

*~*~*~*

Striking a match, Laura lights the last of her candles – a squat, fat pillar situated in the center of the table – and steps back to admire her handiwork.

In the months since she’s settled on New Caprica, she can count on one hand the number of times she’s had anyone visit her here. Tory and Maya stopped by regularly, of course, and there had been the occasional visit from a former staffer or Colonial One resident when she’d first arrived. But by and large Laura has been living a solitary existence here, choosing to focus as much of her time and energy on the school and the children as possible in an effort to keep her from dwelling on the unexpected way her life has turned out.

So maybe that was the reason why she’d felt the need to tidy up as soon as she’d arrived home from the market. And why she’d seen fit to drape the tiny dining table with her cleanest, whitest bed sheet before setting it with her best – and thankfully matching – tableware and cups. She would have done the same for anyone, Laura assures herself as she pours a glass of the wine she’d bought earlier and takes a tentative sip.

She’s relived to discover it isn’t half bad, and breathes a short sigh of relief as she moves to the stove and stirs the stew bubbling in the pot. A glance through the partially opened tent flap tells her it’s nearly dusk; Bill should be arriving any minute.

Licking her lips, Laura takes deep swallow of wine and tries her best to ignore the sudden nervous butterflies she can feel fluttering in her stomach.

*~*~*~*

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Bill glances at the clock for what feels like the thousandth time since the meeting began. He utters a quiet, “Frak,” that goes wholly unnoticed by the others, occupied as they are by the wild gesticulations of Delegate Eriku as he once again tries to convince Sarah Porter of how wrong both she and Delegate Puasha are. The thought that Laura is waiting for him makes Bill shift restlessly in his seat, in part because the regimented solider in him hates being late for anything, and in part because he’s not looking forward to the reception he imagines he’ll get when he appears at her doorway well over an hour later than he’d said he would.

Suddenly, the room erupts into bedlam, as everyone around the table starts arguing at once. Bill can hear Baltar yelling as well, his voice sounding increasingly shrill as he tries to be heard over the din. His repeated calls for order go unheeded for several minutes, until finally the others seem to exhaust themselves and the room grows quiet. “It’s clear that this issue warrants further discussion before we put the matter to a vote. Therefore I move that we adjourn for the evening and plan to reconvene tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

To Bill’s relief, the motion is quickly carried. No sooner has Baltar struck the gavel against the tabletop to end the session than Bill is up and out of his chair. Hurriedly, he collects his things, shoving them into the small duffle he’d brought with him from Galactica that morning. He’s nearly made it to the hatch when he hears someone call his name.

“Yes?”

Turning, he’s surprised to find Gaeta hovering only a few inches away. Something in Bill’s expression must convey his distemper because the younger man quickly takes a step back before continuing, “I’m sorry, Sir. I realize you hadn’t planned on spending the night here on the surface. If you’d like I can see about arranging quarters for you here on Colonial One for the night and notify Galactica of the change to your itinerary?”

“Thank you, Mr. Gaeta,” Bill replies distractedly, and pushes past his former officer with a nod before hurrying down the corridor.

*~*~*~*

Laura looks up from her book and reaches for her cup. Her eyes drift to the front of the tent as she swallows the last of her wine, but she is dismayed to find the scene exactly as it had been a few minutes earlier. Peering through the open tent flap, she sees nothing but the undisturbed gray light from the streetlamp, and hears nothing but the occasional breath of wind against the canvas.

She wants to be angry at Bill, but instead all Laura seems to feel is disappointed. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him until now.

“The frakker,” she mutters sourly as she reaches clumsily for the bottle of wine at the far side of the table. She notices with a start that the bottom of the bottle is nearly perpendicular to the floor by the time she’s finished pouring and, righting it, she brings the mouth up to her eye and peers inside in an attempt to discern exactly how much is left.

It doesn’t take her very long to see that there’s less than a full glass remaining, a fact she suspects should concern her more than it actually does. Frowning, she sets the bottle back on the table with slightly more force than is necessary. “Serves him right,” she proclaims petulantly, the force of the statement somewhat tempered by the wide yawn that immediately follows her words.

Laura knows that what she really needs to do is clean up; the last thing she wants is to wake up tomorrow morning surrounded by the evidence of today’s foolish, schoolgirlish behavior. But she’s also, suddenly exhausted, and the lure of sleep is simply too tantalizing to ignore. “Just a few minutes,” she assures herself softly before laying her head down on her folded arms and closing her eyes.

*~*~*~*

“Laura?” Bill calls out tentatively, trying his best to be unobtrusive as he peeks through the tent flap. He’s not able to see much; the opening is too narrow and the light inside the tent is too dim for him to be able to see very much.

What does grab his attention a moment later, however, is the acrid, bitter smell of something burning. Before he’s had a chance to think about the consequences he’s rushed inside, casting his gaze right and left until he’s located the source of the smell. Hastily, Bill drops his duffle at the tent’s entrance and hurries over to remove the squat, iron pot from the stovetop, almost burning his hands when, at a loss for other options, he is forced to stoop down and set the container on the ground at his feet.

Wincing, he pops the pad of his thumb into his mouth as he straightens – and it’s then that he finally notices Laura, sitting slumped at a small, beautifully set table, her head pillowed on her arms as she sleeps.

Quietly, he makes his way across the room and crouching down, rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Laura?”

Slowly she opens her eyes and peers at him blearily. “You’re late.”

“My meeting with Baltar and the Quorum ran over and I couldn’t get away. I’m sorry.”

“Frakking Baltar,” she mutters sullenly, closing her eyes.

Knowing how much she’ll regret it in the morning if she stays where she is, Bill carefully moves the cup and book out of the way before attempting to help a groggy and reluctant Laura to her feet.

“I’m okay,” she insists, pulling free of his grip while giving him an admonishing look. She rises slowly, teetering precariously on her feet for several seconds before eventually finding her balance. “See? Nothing to worry about; I can do just fine by myself,” she proclaims proudly, emphasizing her words by giving him a strong poke in the chest that immediately sends her stumbling backwards into the table. The wine bottle wobbles slightly before falling onto its side with a dull thunk and rolling across the table. A moment later it collides with Laura’s cup and knocks it over, sending a splash of burgundy liquid onto the plates and pristine cloth.

Laura, who is gripping the edge of the table as if her life depends on it, looks behind her at the mess and begins to giggle. “Oops.”

At a loss for what else to do, Bill moves forward and, after righting both the bottle and now empty tumbler, gently takes hold of her arm. “Laura, let me—” The words die in his throat, victims of the icy glare she gives him as she once again wrests herself from his grip. He settles for following a safe distance behind her as she unsteadily makes her way across the room to her cot and plops down onto the mattress with a sigh.

As soon as he’s assured himself that she’s settled he begins looking around for a towel or cloth he can use to mop up the spilt wine. “Bureau; second drawer from the bottom,” he hears Laura instruct from her perch on the bed.

“Thanks,” he replies, crouching down and pulling one of several neatly folded towels from the indicated drawer. He’s nearly finished cleaning up when he hears her call his name. Looking up, he’s surprised to find her still sitting at the edge of the bed, watching him with glassy, hooded eyes. “’M tired.”

Bill can’t help but smile at the picture she presents. Crossing the room, he helps her to lie down before drawing up the covers and reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from her face. “Get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” she breathes, nodding against the pillow and closing her eyes. Bill stands watch over her for several minutes before turning to leave, resolving to come back in the morning to check on her and re-make his apologies once she’s better able to remember them.

But before he’s able to move away, he feels her hand slip smoothly into his. Looking down, he finds her watching him with wide eyes. “I made stew,” she whispers solemnly.

Her eyes slowly drift shut while he’s still floundering around for a suitable reply. Ultimately, Bill raises her fingers to his lips before gently extracting his hand from hers. After removing his uniform jacket and retrieving her wine-stained book from the table, he pulls up a nearby chair and settles in for the night.

*~*~*~*

Awareness comes to Laura slowly and stubbornly she fights against it, not yet willing to forego the comfortable oblivion of sleep. As she wakes, she becomes cognizant of a dull throbbing just behind her closed lids, and a sour, cottony taste at the back of her throat. Inhaling deeply, she breathes in the delicious scent of coffee and something else, something bready and sweet that despite her malaise makes her stomach rumble.

It takes her sluggish brain almost a minute to put the pieces together and realize that she isn’t alone. The events of last night come back to her in a rush, and gingerly she rolls onto her side and opens her eyes, groaning audibly at the painful intrusion of bright morning light. “Bill?”

She finds him standing over the stove, looking comfortably rumpled in his tanks and unbuttoned uniform jacket, his hair standing endearingly on end. “Good morning,” he rasps, looking up to favor her with an easy smile before returning his attention to a pan on the stove.

“What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast.” Abandoning the stove, he reaches for one of two mugs set side-by-side on the table. “I figure it’s the least I can do for standing you up last night,” he explains, filling the mug before carrying it over to her.

“Frakking Baltar,” she mutters, offering him a wry smile as she takes the steaming cup from him with both hands. She inhales deeply, savoring the aroma before taking a sip. “Thank you.”

Bill simply nods and returns to the stove. He pokes at the contents of the pan with a fork and, seemingly satisfied, transfers what she recognizes as a pancake onto a plate. “I used some of your flour, sugar, and a couple of eggs; I hope you don’t mind?”

“Are you kidding? I can’t remember the last time anyone made me breakfast in bed,” she replies, setting her mug on the ground and accepting the proffered plate with a smile. Breaking off a piece, she pops it into her mouth, humming her approval as she chews.

“So does this mean you accept my apology?”

Swallowing, Laura looks up to find Bill watching her with a bemused smile. “Only if you accept mine,” she replies, licking her lips before taking another bite.

Bill watches her levelly for several moments, then turns away to retrieve his own mug before adding more batter to the pan. “You have school today, right?”

“Oh, gods!” After a quick glance outside, Laura pushes back the blankets and gets unsteadily to her feet. “Yes. And I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry up.”

She realizes she must look absolutely terrible because a moment later Bill is at her side, his hand gently cupping her elbow. “Maybe you should stay home. I could always walk over and let them know you’re not feeling well.”

“No!” Laura exclaims, wincing as her voice echoes painfully in her over-sensitive ears. She can only imagine what Tory’s reaction would be if Bill were to arrive at the school this morning making excuses for her that, while accurate, were also the worst sort of ‘morning after’ cliché. “I’ll be okay. I just need to get dressed.”

“Then I’ll walk you,” he insists as he starts to do up the buttons of his uniform jacket, then tucks it into the waistband of his pants.

“You don’t have somewhere you have to be?”

Bill shrugs somewhat noncommittally. “Nowhere important.”

“Okay,” she replies slowly, feeling suddenly, strangely self-conscious. “Just give me a few minutes?”

Bill nods crisply and picks up his duffle bag. “I’ll wait outside.”

*~*~*~*

Bill inhales deeply as he steps through the tent flaps into the bright morning sunshine. Noticing a small pile of sandbags not far from Laura’s tent he sits down, closes his eyes and raises his face skyward, enjoying the almost-forgotten feeling of the sun against his skin.

It seems only a short time later that he hears her come up beside him. “You must miss it,” she observes quietly. Opening his eyes, he turns to her and finds himself literally struck dumb by the picture she presents, fresh-faced and hair tousled, dressed casually in khakis and a sweater.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so beautiful.

“Yes,” he replies, and it’s clear from her startled expression and the slight blush rising on her cheeks that she’s aware he’s talking about more than just the sun.

He allows his gaze to linger on her a moment longer before stiffly pulling himself to his feet. “You ready?”

Laura nods and after only a moment’s hesitation begins to lead the way. The silence between them is comfortable as they walk side-by-side, arms brushing occasionally as they make their way through the maze of New Caprica City’s streets. A few minutes later, they turn a corner and the school tent comes into view – and Bill is surprised when he feels Laura come to an abrupt halt beside him.

“Oh no.”

Alarmed, Bill stops as well, then follows Laura’s gaze up the street to the school tent, where Tory is standing at the entryway greeting the students and their parents as they arrive. “What is it?”

Laura merely shakes her head in response, and after taking a deep breath resumes walking. Bill quickly falls back into step beside her, his eyes still trained on the school tent and the people outside as he tries to figure out what or who it is Laura seems to be steeling herself for.

When Tory’s gaze happens upon them a few moments later, Bill gets his answer. The younger woman’s initially disbelieving expression seems to grow darker with every step he and Laura take; by the time they’ve arrived at the school her expression is positively stormy and Bill is feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

Laura, on the other hand, appears completely unaffected by her assistant’s obvious agitation. “Good morning, Tory.” The greeting is amiable enough, but Bill can hear the thinly veiled warning behind her words, and can only hope that Tory does as well. “Is everyone here?”

Seemingly unfazed, Tory continues to hold Laura’s gaze defiantly. “We’re still waiting for Alex and Mariah.”

“I’ll wait out here a few more minutes to see if they show up. If you could go inside and help Maya get the rest of the class settled?”

Tory hesitates before finally nodding. “I’ll see you inside in a minute,” she says deliberately before shooting a final, menacing glance at Bill and stalking inside.

“Was it something I said?” he jokes weakly in an attempt to dispel some of the tension.

Laura turns to him, her expression a mixture of apology and embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Tory seems to be under the illusion that people still care about what I do with my very dull, ex-Presidential life.”

He can’t explain why what she’s said upsets him; what is clear to him is that it upsets her too, and so before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing, he’s stepped closer and taken her hand in his. “I’d like to make last night up to you.”

Laura’s eyes flick nervously to the open tent flap. “You already did.”

“No.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet as he struggles to find a way to say what he wants to without sounding like a fool. Ultimately, he falls back on what he knows; straightening to full, military attention, he faces her squarely and resolutely meets her eyes. “Laura, I’d be honored if you would agree to accompany me to the Groundbreaking Ceremony next month.”

“Bill,” she begins, smiling at him affectionately, “I have no intention of attending that ridiculous excuse for a ceremony.” He feels his stomach drop in response, and he’s about to pull away from her when Laura adds demurely, “But you can meet me for a drink later at the celebration.”

Unable to formulate a response, Bill simply nods and watches as, after giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Laura disappears into the school.

*~*~*~*

As soon as she enters the tent, Laura greets her students and immediately sets to work. As such, it is several hours before Tory is finally able to corner her. Laura is slowly making her way around the classroom, checking on each student’s progress and answering the occasional question as the children work on their history essays, when she catches sight of Tory making a beeline towards her. In anticipation of the confrontation she knows is coming, Laura alters her course, taking a seat at her desk just as Tory comes to a stop on the other side. “The children should be concentrating on their work, so please try not to make a scene,” she instructs impatiently, and feels a small twinge of pleasure at the discomfiture that crosses Tory’s features in response.

Her reprieve, however, is momentary at best. “Ma’am, please tell me Admiral Adama did not spend the night in your tent.”

Laura crosses her arms and leans forward on the desk, doing her best to keep her frustration in check. “I’m not going to answer that question.”

“Laura, with all due respect—”

“Tory please,” she says firmly, raising a silencing hand. “How and with whom I choose to spend my time is no one’s business but my own. If I want to accompany the Admiral to next month’s Groundbreaking Ceremony—”

“What?!?” Maya exclaims as she hurries over to join the conversation. “That’s wonderful!”

“No, it’s not,” Tory counters flatly. “It’s a high-profile event and you are almost surely going to be noticed. And besides, I thought you weren’t going.”

“Not to the ceremony, no.”

If possible, Tory’s expression darkens even further. “So not only are you planning on being conspicuously absent from the groundbreaking itself, but now you’re planning to attend the party – at which, may I remind you, there will be free food and alcohol – with the Admiral afterwards? Do you know how this is going to play in the press?”

“My guess is that the members of the press will be too busy enjoying themselves on the Baltar Administration’s cubit to care.”

“I can’t believe this,” Tory exclaims as she throws up her hands and storms off.

Maya, on the other hand, sits down on the edge of the desk and leans in conspiratorially. “So, does this mean you’re going to need help finding something to wear?”

*~*~*~*

Walking into the chamber, Bill is dismayed to discover that, aside from Baltar and Gaeta, he is the first to arrive. Heaving an aggrieved sigh, he makes his way around the table, conscious of Baltar’s eyes following him as he sits and begins pulling the necessary files from his bag.

“Good morning, Admiral,” Gaeta offers as he comes up beside Bill and places a copy of the day’s agenda on the table in front of him. “I hope you slept well?”

Bill hesitates for only a beat, his gaze darting momentarily to Baltar, who is casually leaning back in his chair lighting a cigarillo, before answering blandly, “Yes, Mr. Gaeta; thank you.”

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“Coffee, please.”

“Of course, sir,” Gaeta replies with his customary formality before leaving the room.

Bill can feel Baltar’s calculating gaze on him, and so does his best to immerse himself in one of the files he’s brought with him in the hope that Gaius will eventually lose interest and leave him alone. Much to his dismay, however, his silence seems to only encourage the man. “Funny, I didn’t see you on board Colonial One this morning.”

“I woke up early and decided to take a walk.”

“Good, good.” Rising from his chair, Baltar takes a deep drag on his cigarillo as he leisurely walks around the table. “Taking advantage of everything New Caprica has to offer before you have to go back to Galactica?”

“Something like that.”

“Well then, Admiral,” Baltar says, flashing what Bill can only describe as a predatory smile, “on behalf of my staff here, please let me take this moment to thank you for lending us your rather impressive bed-making skills this morning.”

“Excuse me?”

Adopting an air of forced casualness, Baltar shrugs and waves his cigarillo-laden hand between the two of them. “I’ve never seen a used bed look so perfectly unslept in. Tell me, is that something they used to teach all Fleet Academy recruits?”

Rising to his feet, Bill advances on Baltar until he is practically standing on top of him. “Discretion,” Bill replies with a snarl, “is the better part of valor.” Deliberately, he drops his gaze to study Baltar’s shirt collar and he can’t help but smile victoriously when the younger man’s eyes widen in response, his fingers moving to rub self-consciously at a faint lipstick stain on the left point. “Something you might do well to remember, Mister President.”

Bill feels a mixture of relief and disappointment when Sarah Porter unexpectedly appears in the entryway a moment later, bringing an end to Gaius’s ineffectual spluttering. Baltar practically jumps at the opportunity, putting on his most practiced and officious smile as he hurries over to escort her to her chair.

Resuming his seat, Bill bends down and begins rummaging through the duffel at his feet. Eventually he finds the pen he’d been searching for, clipped to the corner of the envelope containing yesterday’s letter. Smiling, he removes both and, after pulling the pen free, lifts the flap and pensively runs his finger along the creased edge of the page.

Sparing only a cursory glance at the clock, Bill pulls a clean sheet of paper from the pad on the table and reaches for his pen. The meeting isn’t scheduled to begin for several minutes – and will most likely be starting late, given that over half the Quorum Delegates have yet to arrive.

Plenty of time, Bill thinks to himself as he leans in and begins to write.

  
*fin.*


End file.
